13. Managed care. At this point, I have roped off the hours of 2 to 4:30 for one thing, talking to insurance companies, this usually consists of me talking to one guy who asks inane questions, such as when I tell him I'm seeking transfer to a residential treatment center for a teenager who is autistic, mentally retarded, and head buts is grandfather, knocking him to the ground, "but did you try Multisystemic Therapy first?" Which, according to state guidelines and the developer of the therapy, does not work for individuals who have autism OR mental retardation. He challenges me on every single treatment decision, which they aren't supposed to do.
I should mention: we're non profit. We're not trying to make money. It's not a spa. If the doctor feels he needs to be here another day, why second guess him? Why second guess me?
"Are you sure?"
Am I sure that he has autism and mental retardation?
"No. Are you sure it doesn't work?"
Pretty sure.
I"m going to go look that up."
You do that. Let me know if I'm remembering that wrong.
And Ellen looks at me, and says, "that's very diplomatic of you."
That two.5 hours, by the way, on the phone with insurance companies, includes time spent on hold.
12. Reality. There are people out there who go on vacation while their kids are in locked psych units. Seriously. And cannot be reached. There are people who refuse to pick up their kids when they're discharged. There was one mother who moved, across the country. She left the rest of the family to 'deal with it'. I'm not saying I would have ever done that. But I didn't even know it was an option.
11. Generally speaking, I work roughly an hour per client each day. Right now I have 9 of them. Earlier this week I had ten. It's been a long week, but unlike my old job, I get paid overtime. I see blonde hair in my near future...and gel nails. And tapas, which is #34 on my food bucket list.
10. This weekend, Sweet Baboo is going to run the Army Ten-Miler. He made the team, and is now convinced he will be dead last in a humiliating show of slowness. It's somewhat reminiscent of when he was recently out of grad school, studying for the EPPP. This is the test that decides whether you become a clinical psychologist or not. At one point, he was sitting on the bed, staring blankly ahead. "Maybe I can become a gardener," he said. And I, not long on his life, was worried.
He passed, obviously. The first try. There have been many, many times since then Like this, when he predicts certain doom. i have added the handling of these moments to my Baboo-handling skills. Which I will not divulge. Because himself reads my blog. Anyway. He will do awesome. It will be wonderful. He'll see.
9. Ulp. One week from Saturday I toe the start line at the Javalina Jundred. GAAAAA!!!!!!
8. Last big workout before Javalina. Sunday, myself, DreadPirate Rackham-Black, and several New Mexico Outlaws will run the Duke City Marathon as a relay. I have never run a marathon as a relay before. Every single person on my relay team is faster than I am, most of them considerably so. But, I imagine it will be fun. It will be beautiful, this morning run on the Bosque, through blazing gold cottonwoods, with breakfast and/or coffee after.
It really sucks, too, because I liked this diet. I could give a shit about carbs. I don't get cravings for cookies, or bread. I get cravings for meat and cheese. And bacon. I have compromised by precooking some good, quality bacon and refrigerating it, and putting one or two pieces on my salads throughout the week. Mmm.
6. Yes carbs. So, taking about carbs reminds me of oatmeal. Which reminds me of Cooks Illustrated magazine. I love this magazine. Every one of the recipe articles is a long, nerdy treatise of one particular dish. For instance, properly cooked steel-cut oatmeal:
5. Hippie. I read an article about a link between pesticides and drop in IQ, and I've decided that I need my brain cells, so I'm going to go organic when I can. It's easier on the earth, too. All the apples from my tree are organic (as the worms and bird-pecked spots can attest) and I feel good about that, since apples are at the top of the dirty dozen list for pesticide contamination. My grapes are, too. Costco has a goodly selection of organics now.
4. Drinking the coolaid. And so it is, after years of declaring I will not join your Trader Joes cult I find myself working about five minutes away from one. So, I popped over there to pick up a few things such as--ohhhhhh, pumpkin pecan instant oatmeal for work. And salad greens, and eggs. Most of their stuff is pretty reasonably priced. And I just like being there, as I wrote earlier this week. And their stuff is not just tasty, but imaginative. Don't know how they do it.
3. Flower child. My house has dried flowers and herbs and shit hanging all over. I have rosemary-infused everything, including cleaning spray, vinegar, and olive oil. It's seriously Martha-Stewart-meets-hippie-flower child decor and I don't care. I will be sweeping up seeds and dried petals and leaves all winter and I don't care. It makes me happy. I feel domestic and useful and all that crap.
Doing all this herbal and dried plant stuff makes me feel like this:
But to my neighbors, I probably seem more like this:
2. No news is no news. Sweet Baboo and I have been on a self-imposed news hiatus for a couple of months now. I highly recommend it. The world seems like a nicer place when you are not reminded, daily, by fear mongerers that it's not. There world is not as scary as they would have you believe.
1. I promised myself I wouldn't post anything political but I could stop myself. Ahh. What the hell.
Posted with Blogsy
